Page 30 of The Slapshot and the Single Mom
I smile, my shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Me too. It’s just scary, though.”
She nods. “I know. But Jack isn’t love bombing you. He’s not giving you extravagant gifts. Though I realize baseball tickets aren’t cheap, it’s not like he’s flying you to Italy for the weekend, showering you with jewels, and declaring his undying love.”
Grinning, I giggle and shake my head. “Not even close. Like I said, our arrangement is friendly. We’re seen together on a weekly basis, and while he doesn’t get a ton of attention, I know a few of the smaller gossip sites have seen us out and have started speculating already.”
Kim’s eyebrows lift again. “How do you feel about that?”
I shrug one shoulder. “Fine. It was the deal, after all. I knew that going in. We’re not getting mobbed by paparazzi or anything. Is it weird seeing grainy phone pics of me on random websites? Sure. But it’s nothing terrible.” At least not yet. I know that media coverage always has the potential to take a rough turn without warning. But since we’re not doing anything scandalous, it’s hard to see how that could happen.
Nodding, Kim makes another note on her notepad. “Okay. So it seems like things are going well. There’s no reason to suspect Jack has bad intentions. His words match his actions, which is always an important thing to keep an eye on.”
Leaning forward, I take a deep breath, bracing myself to ask one of the questions that swirls and loops endlessly through my mind. “What if …” I chew my lower lip, afraid to voice my fears aloud. “What if his wordsstopmatching his actions?”
“That’s a good question,” Kim says. “What if that happens? Have you thought about what you would do?”
I sit back against the couch again, both grateful and annoyed at how calm Kim is in the face of my raging anxiety. “Leave, I guess. End things.”
She nods. “Good. That sounds like a good plan. If at any point he reveals himself to be less than what he is currently representing himself to be, you can end it. At this point, you have no strong attachments. You like spending time with him, which is good.” She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m genuinely happy for you. I think it’ll help you feel better if you keep things as they are, though, until you feel more settled about this situation. There’s no reason to introduce him to your son or any other friends or family. You’re hanging out, having a good time, and that’s enough. If you decide you don’t want to anymore for any reason at all, even if you still think Jack’s a great guy but you just want to have time to date for real or you develop feelings that you know he doesn’t reciprocate or anything at all.” She waves a hand airily. “You can end it. You have the power to do that. You’re no longer the Maggie who was dragged along by the force of someone else’s personality. You’re able to focus on things that are important to you, pursue those things, and havefun with someone who wants to take you to places and events you want to experience. Enjoy it.”
Letting out a deep breath, I nod and give her a tentative smile. “Okay.”
On my way back to work, I feel so much better about my situation with Jack. Talking to Kim lifted a load off, reminding me that I’m in control here, that I get to decide how long this lasts. I don’t have a contract. I don’t have to worry about how to untangle my life from someone else’s. I don’t have to worry about how it’ll affect Liam or anything like that. I can simply … stop going out with Jack if I want to.
I don’t, though. Especially not when he buys Mariner’s tickets.
My good mood evaporates as soon as I walk back into work, though. “Maggie,” Brock says, sounding annoyed, “there you are. Where have you been? Never mind.” He stops in front of me, taking a giant bite of the sandwich in his hand and chewing with his mouth open. It takes real effort not to let my disgust show on my face.
“I had an appointment,” I remind him, even though he doesn’t actually care.
“Whatever.” He waves that away like he would a stinky fart. “What’s with all these uggos you set up interviews with? And why are half of them dudes?”
I raise my eyebrows. “I set up interviews with the candidates who were most qualified.”Uggos?“You didn’t actually insultanyone to their face, did you?” But I already know the answer to that question.
“No!” he denies, bits of half-masticated sandwich spraying out of his mouth.
I take a step back, unable to hide my disgust now.
He wipes a hand down the front of his shirt—a Broncos jersey that costs way too much to be using as a bib-slash-napkin. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Oh, what? You’re too good to talk to a guy eating a sandwich? That’s why you’re a single mom, isn’t it? You’re just one of those bitchy women who’s all prim and proper and doesn’t understand how amanreally is.”
Refusing to dignify any of that with a response, I step into my little office, setting down my tote bag. “Brock, do you want me to schedule your social media posts, or do you want me to be your assistant?” I cross my arms over my chest and stare him down. “Because I’ll do one of those things, but I won’t do the other. I’ll give you three guesses about which is which.”
He looks at me, confused. “Huh?”
I roll my eyes, no longer bothering to hide my disdain. He might threaten to fire me, but we both know he won’t. He can’t afford to at this point. He has no assistant, no social media know-how, and he refuses to do anything himself that doesn’t include food or talking to athletes. He does interview people well, I’ll give him credit for that. And he’s a wiz at editing—even if he sometimes uses those powers for evil more than good, like in Jack’s case. He comes up with good angles for shows, which makes my job easier. He’s very quotable, gives good quippy soundbites that get lots of love from the algorithms. I think he’s a giant asshole, but that’s why the internet loves him.
“Look, Brock. You need an assistant. If you keep making me do two jobs, I’ll quit.”
He scoffs. “You have a kid. You can’t afford to quit.”
Dropping my arms to my sides, I lean closer. “Try me.”
We’re locked in a staring contest for a few seconds before he splutters and steps back. “Fine! I’ll hire one of the uggos!”
“If you call them that, they won’t take the job!”
Turning away, he waves a hand. “There are plenty of people desperate enough to take any job, even if it sucks.” He glances at me over his shoulder. “Look at you. You’re still here, aren’t you?”
And just like that, he gets the last word.
